


the forest and what I found there

by roosebolton



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician), Original Work, Poetry - Fandom
Genre: Fantasy, Fantasy Sex, Forest Sex, Other, Poetry, but i'll just leave it, i could also tag it f/m and m/m since the narrator is deliberately not described with a gender, look I just started typing and some of these tags are wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roosebolton/pseuds/roosebolton
Summary: this poem is the most self indulgent work I could possibly write. it was a labor of excessive love. (it was completed on november 30: the feast of saint andrew.)





	the forest and what I found there

when I find the forest, it's an accident.

walking along the banks of a rushing river,  
flowing stream,  
gently babbling brook,  
my wandering feet never notice  
when manicured grass gives way,  
seamlessly,  
to the soft crunch of Autumn leaves  
littering the forest floor.

the end of water -  
trickling slowly into the muddy ground  
down where I can't follow.

I look up,  
through the scattered tangle of branches  
and the leaves that still cling to them,  
stubborn like me,  
unable or unwilling to let go.

the blue clear sky has given way  
to pink, orange, yellow.

sunset. I should go back.

and yet - my traitorous feet have crept me further among the trees.  
I can no longer hear the faint rush of water,  
nothing looks familiar,  
there is no path here.  
I keep walking.

a chill runs up my spine.  
something is watching me.

frozen in place, my eyes scan for any sign  
of tooth or fang or claw  
but nothing jumps out to feast on me.

deep breath. deep breath. again.  
better.

must be my imagination.

and then  
_whoosh_  
I see the rusty bottlebrush tail of a fox rush past me.

startled,  
I watch as the fox runs,  
stops,  
turns around and, I swear,  
looks at me with intelligent eyes,  
watches me watching it.

and then, gone, just as fast.

what else can I do?  
I follow it through the trees.

the daylight has faded to a soft gray,  
colors muted,  
owls now in the distance.

no stars, not here, not yet.

I keep walking,  
for what seems like hours  
(does time move differently here?)

and then - faintly - music.

in the half-light of the dimming day I catch quick sight  
of the white-tipped fox tail.  
was it leading me here?

I step through a curtain of willow into a clearing.  
the moonlight filters lazily through the boughs overhead.  
night has fallen.

and finally,  
I see him  
though I hear him first,  
strings of an unfamiliar instrument plucked by long spindly fingers,  
voice crisp as a church bell,  
the lyrical lilt in a language I don't speak,  
percussion marked by the soft click of hooves on wood.

the dark waterfall of his hair cascades past his shoulders,  
silvery antlers peeking through the curls,  
skin almost glowing,  
as pale as the moon now shining down on him,  
on me.

the fox saunters up to him,  
sits and listens,  
quietly,  
like a peasant waiting for an audience with a king.

the music stops.  
he turns to the fox,  
speaks in a hush,  
the fox gesturing in return with tiny paws.  
he nods in agreement, and with a flick of its tail, the fox is at my feet.

it looks up at me,  
walks back to him.  
I understand somehow and follow.

I am in his presence now,  
confused.  
he looks away from me,  
ignores me purposefully,  
until the fox nips at my leg  
and I drop to one knee in pain,  
in deference.

he stands,  
not as tall as the trees surrounding us,  
but impossibly tall nonetheless,  
a wan smile crossing his thin face.

and he speaks gently to me,  
the same language he had been singing,  
inhuman tongue dancing over each syllable  
that my city ears cannot comprehend.

 _I do not speak what you speak,_  
I tell him.

he pauses,  
looks thoughtful.  
beckons me closer.

on my hands and knees I crawl the short distance  
across the damp grass to him,  
close enough now that I can see the dark soft fur of his legs.

he bends down in fluid motion,  
slender fingers of one hand wrapping around my throat,  
with gentle pressure,  
his thumb nestled in the hollow,  
my heart is pounding like a drum  
and I know he can feel it.

for this one moment,  
frozen in time,  
I think _he is killing me for daring to come here,_  
_for disturbing this place,_  
but his touch is so calm and so tender,  
if this is how I must die,  
I am ready.  
I yield.

there are brief sparks before my eyes,  
but no deep oblivion comes for me.

what's left is my sharp sudden intake of air  
and his sweet breath whispering hot words into my ear  
that I contemplate for a while,  
before responding  
_I understand now,_  
with language I did not have  
before he gave it to me.

he smiles broadly,  
his teeth briefly on display,  
and nods.

I take a deep breath,  
swallow the nervous knot in my throat.

inching forward,  
I pause for a moment,  
my heart still pounding,  
and delicately I rest my hands on the front of his thighs.

I speak in even tone,  
my voice still new,  
not melodious like his,  
but still, the words come out:  
_let me adore you._

he looks down at me,  
curiously,  
studying my intentions.

my earnest face is enough to convince him  
and he rests one hand atop my head,  
tangling his long fingers lightly in my hair,  
granting me tacit approval.

and then,  
with hands and lips and common tongue,  
I worship him  
until at last,  
I wrest a wordless, stuttering song from his lips.

after a heavy, delicious sigh,  
he bends down,  
kisses the top of my head sweetly in thanks.

I seize the opportunity,  
reaching above to grip his antlers with both hands,  
pressing myself ever upward,  
boldly claiming a kiss from his fevered mouth.

he wraps one arm around my waist,  
lowering me gracefully to the forest floor,  
my body resting on grass and leaves and damp earth.

he takes my smaller hands in his,  
our fingers entwined,  
presses them into the dirt at the sides of my head.

as he buries his face into the crook of my neck,  
I am overcome with the sound of my own heartbeat,  
the unusual sunshine smell of his hair,  
the hot wet feel of his breath on my skin.

when he nudges my jawline,  
I instinctively tilt my head away,  
exposing myself to him in fond submission.

his teeth graze my skin lightly,  
and then I feel his bite:  
a sweet, stinging pain  
that makes my toes curl  
and will surely leave a bruise.

I feel his fingers fumbling at my waist,  
not looking,  
eyes and face preoccupied,  
his sharp, clever teeth nibbling my earlobe,  
so I unbuckle my belt for him with practiced ease.

insistent, he tugs at my trousers,  
trailing kisses down my jaw, neck, shoulder,  
and I kick off my shoes,  
squirming out of my clothes  
until I'm naked from the waist down.

I can feel his long legs against mine now,  
warm fur against warm flesh,  
a throbbing, heady ache burning in me,  
ready for what comes next.

he kneels upright between my legs,  
meeting my unworthy gaze,  
his eyes no longer gentle but wild and fiery and passionate,  
damp leaves tangled in his unruly curls.

he licks his lips.

my eyes never leaving his,  
I pull my knees toward my chest,  
thighs parted,  
opening myself to him  
in every way conceivable,  
all of me in perfect view,  
vulnerable.

placing his hands on my knees,  
leaning forward with firm but delicate pressure,  
I can feel the heat of him pulsing below,  
against a part of me that longs to be filled.

he speaks nearly in a whisper,  
his cadence thick with desire:  
_are you certain?_

trembling beneath him,  
all I can say is _please._

I am pierced by him slowly,  
carefully,  
and then,  
filled with him,  
I wrap my legs around his back  
and hold him there.

I am his,  
and in this moment,  
however brief,  
he is mine.

a pause,  
( _I burn for you_ , I tell him. _please. now._ )  
and then,  
a rush of force against me  
and into me  
so keen and fine and perfect,  
and I meet him with every push,  
every thrust,  
like a fencer parrying every blow.

when he moves, I move.

it happens suddenly,  
our bodies rising with shared madness,  
the crest of my raging wave crashing against him,  
with only him and the trees there to hear my strangled cry.

he follows soon after,  
clutching at me tightly,  
his whole body shuddering against mine,  
his moans deep and low into my ear.

we catch our breath  
in the space between us.

panting still, he brushes a curl out of his face.

it is the last thing I remember as I drift off to sleep.

when I wake, I can hear the birds singing.

comforted by the damp cool moss cradling my head,  
I stare up at the yellow pink clouds of dawn.

I turn my head and hear the flow of water over rocks.

did I dream him?

my hand creeps up to touch my neck.  
there is a soreness,  
an ache there,  
but that can be explained away,  
surely.

with sleepy difficulty,  
I climb to my feet,  
blushing,  
soreness evident too in other parts of me.

( _just a dream_ , I tell myself. _a very vivid dream._ )

and yet,  
my belt is on upside down.  
( _maybe I just forgot._ )

there are no leaves where I was sleeping,  
but they are tangled in my hair,  
like his.

as I start the long walk home,  
my heart leaps into my throat  
when I see  
a distinctive set of hoofprints  
leading back into the forest  
from my mossy bed.


End file.
